


Melting Wax, Freezing Wind

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amber skin Mercy, Angst, Carbon Fiber skin Genji, F/M, Romance, Star-crossed, brief mentions of Torbjorn's family, magical beings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 01:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: One fateful blizzard introduces two magical beings to each other, both who thought they were alone in their existence.





	Melting Wax, Freezing Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Mercy’s Amber skin and Genji’s Carbon Fiber skin! Both of which are a few of my favorites. This is just a whole bucket of sweet and angsty thrown together to make a star-crossed lovers tale.

****Tonight, a storm howls. A blizzard picks up, throwing merciless chills against the wooden walls of the home. The wife and husband are curled around each other on the couch, close to the fire. A blanket is shared as they drink something hot and sweet. Mercy’s candlestick is left by the back window in the kitchen. There, she watches the raging weather. It’s as entertaining as anything else. The blacks and blues mix in the dreary clouds. Pieces of white snow are flung to and fro.

A quiet whisper of wind through a crack in the window frame disrupts Mercy’s calm evening. She frowns at the broken glass, despite it being a minor inconvenience. Her hand could easily fit through it. The husband and wife might not notice.

Climbing down from her waxy perch, Mercy steps towards the window. Its daunting height is nothing new. Kneeling at the corner, she imagines for a moment melting the glass to completely cover it. It is only imagination for she does not have enough heat in her person. Chilly air slips into the safety of the house, causing Mercy’s frame to flicker in brightness. It is nothing dangerous, just startling.

The wind outside howls much louder now as she’s closer to it’s fierceness. Mercy lifts her gaze, studying the flurries breaking out across the snow barren land. Her bright hair throws a soft glare against the glass, reflecting her light.

A soft sigh echoes. Mercy stills at the noise. It did not come from inside the home, but rather, out on the window sill. Shifting ever so slightly, Mercy peers into the corner from around the widow frame. Hidden from her vision earlier, a man of her own size sits, tucked away in the corner.

Black and dark blue plates cover his person like armor. Elaborate designs are engraven into the ice like material. A mask with a line of cyan blue acts as his window of eyesight. Small, cyan marks on his chest, shoulders and head, glow faintly, casting a different light.

A snowflake.

She gasps softly. The magical creature turns at the noise.

“Hello,” she greets softly, almost shyly. Her voice carries through the crack in the glass.

“Hello,” he response curiously. His voice causes Mercy to pause. It is deep, but holds a strength to its cord, like the howl of the wind.

He rises to his feet. Stepping cautiously, the snowflake comes to the window. They are both only mere inches in height, but encased in an enchanting aura. When he stops in front of the glass, the jagged flaw is distinguishable. Mercy straightens ever so slightly at his examination.

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” she offers politely. Her center burns at having been caught staring. “I have never seen a snowflake rest on this window still before.”

She hasn’t seen a magical snowflake at all, least of all on her window still. She has only ever heard of their existence through stories.

“Not at all,” he gives. Although his ice like mask hides his expression, a smile conjured behind it seems true enough. “I was simply curious of where the lovely gasp came from.”

She chuckles lightly, hardly feeling deserving of the compliment.

“Forgive me, but I am not quite sure what you are?” he asks sheepishly. In reassurance, she lifts the corners of her lips to show no offense was taken. Hardly anyone knows of her kind.

“I am a candle flame,” she speaks. Her fingers tuck back a bang of burning hair. There is no grand roaring fire she belongs to, but she still burns brightly. “I am never met another one of my kind.”

He leans forward subtly, leaving very little space between them save for the glass. Something enthralling tilts his head to the side in wonder.

“I have never met another one of my kind either,” he says softly. “We magical creatures are rarities, no?”

“Of course,” Mercy agrees.

Having him so close now, she can study the strange plates on his body. Black ice and cyan magic must stem from his core. The more she stares, the more she ponders of what hides behind his mask, and why he wears it.

“Can you burn outside of your wick?” he asks. There is no indication of where his vision falls but he must be going over her burning dress and glowing person as much as she goes over him.

“For a time, but I must return eventually,” she answers, slightly mystified at explaining such things to another. “I can travel to whatever fire source I please but I do prefer the wicks of candles.”

“Ah,” he hums. The noise slips into her eardrums like music. “I, too, must stay in a proper environment. I have been traveling with this blizzard for some time now.”

Her eyes widen a fraction at his implication.

“What happens when the blizzard dies away?” Her voice rises in concern.

He holds up his hands in reassurance.

“I always find another one. Snow storms are simple to get to,” he explains easily, almost preening at the attention. Mercy lets her shoulders loosen ever so slightly.

“So when this storm passes by, you will go with it?” she asks carefully. The direction she takes isn’t exactly subtle. Truth be told, she has never found such a similar and yet strikingly different person in all of her time. Her fascination with the snowflake is endless.

“Yes,” he looks away for a moment, judging the landscape. “This is a frozen land. I could spend a little more time here, outside of a blizzard.”

Her gaze falls over his person before she raises her chin.

“You would be harmed in warmer conditions.” A statement, not a question.

The dots of cyan over his shoulders dim when he nods.

“And what about yourself?”

“If a strong enough wind blows,” her eyes unintentionally look past him to the storm, “or the temperature is too low, I would be in danger of getting extinguished.”

For several notes of the raging blizzard, they share an awkward silence. The snowflake’s glowing parts come to life with brightness in the new howl of the wind.

“Are you cold now?” he asks, gesturing to the hole in the window,  which they speak through now.

“Oh, no.” Mercy’s light flickers as she shakes her head. “It takes much more than that, and I am close to my wick.”

“Okay,” he gives out in a relieved sigh.

Crossing an arm across her torso, Mercy hangs on her other. Her flickering light illuminates his dark armor through the glass.

“Why were you resting before?” she asks, unwilling to let the conversation die.

“I just wanted to take a break from the wind,” he gestures with one, black cladded glove. “It’s swift, but it gets tiring after a time.”

She nearly gasps in awe when she asks “You travel on it?”

“Of course! It’s the best way to get around,” he says, impressing the image of a wink in her mind.

A deep flame of red spreads across her cheeks for a moment. Bashfully, she looks away.

“I’ve disturbed you long enough. I’ll let you rest,” she speaks softly. “It was wonderful meeting you.”

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” his voice is quick. The urgency lures her eyes back to the snowflake. His hand is raised, nearly touching the snow speckled glass but unable to reach through. As if sensing his own boldness, he clears his throat. “But I won’t keep you if you wish to go.”

She stares at him for a moment. Regarding his strong from and steady line of cyan light within his mask, Mercy smiles.

“I need to rest, too.” His shoulders immediately droop in the slightest, spurring Mercy to add, “But, if the blizzard hasn’t passed on by morning, I’d love to speak with you again.”

Her smile almost lifts as brightly as the cyan colors over his torso. The glass presents the snowflake as he slips closer. Flurries and rushing snow just behind him drag none of his attention away from the candle flame.

Her hand touches her face in slight amusement, almost hiding her mouth. The focused light of his cyan gaze falls against her skin like a warm summer’s day. Her feet long to float away from the counter from the sheer bubbliness within her rib cage.

“I’d love that, too,” he says. A cool but charming husk to his voice slips into Mercy’s burning heart. She holds it carefully, not wanting it to disperse just yet.

As if tearing herself away from a beautiful wick, Mercy turns her back to the window. Her candlestick awaits, letting her reclaim energy.  Carefully maintaining her gaze, she only dares to glance back after she’s begun melting the wax around her feet once more.

The snowflake’s shoulders and the back of his head press against the bottom portion of the window. Sitting against the glass, the faint cyan dots on his shoulders shine through. Her breath catches at the define outline of black and dark blue armor flowing over his muscular backside. She jerks her face away with a self-reproach for acting like a foolish wooden match, set aflame by the mere glance at flint and steel.

Oh, but what a sight he is. A magical being like herself, but against everything in her core. Despite her own rebuttal, she does look back to him once again. As she takes a piece of the wick for herself, her thoughts wonder what fate the wind was carrying this night.

She sleeps, waking into a gray, silent morning. Bolting upright from the wax, Mercy attempts composure but eagerness pulls at her cheekbones. However, the lack of howling and flurries beating against the wooden walls still her burning center.

When Mercy approaches the crack in the window, there is no handsome snowflake resting against the old wood. Instead, delicate frost waits across the bottom portion of the glass. In jagged scrawling, she reads: Genji

Her light flares outwards at what can only be him leaving his name, and embarrassment for not asking for it sooner. Yet, the flames of her hair never waver, for hope tells her they’ll meet again.

*

Genji forgot to ask the candle flame her name, like a fool.

She is soft yet bright. Her skin glows a heavenly yellow as a dress of deep orange falls down the length of her legs. Her hair… oh her hair is beautiful. Strands of licking flames are pulled back into a flickering fire upon her head. A few of those lovely flames frame her face, causing her eyes to appear like a present waiting behind a curtain.

Her eyes still impale his chest. Blue, like the very tips of a small flame.

He’s surprised he managed to remember his tongue at the sight of her. He could only think of her as a dream until she spoke. Her size matched his own, if only a more feminine, slender physique. Meeting another magical creature even close to himself was never in his mind. The blizzard simply carried him along its way. He went with the rest of the ice fragments through air.

A quiet gratitude blooms in his chest at deciding to stop here. If not for this, he would not be seated outside the candle’s flame window. She rests now, upon a column of thick wax. Curled around the wick, he does his best to not stare, but keeps forgetting his manners. Even her light is gentle on his eyes.

Little wisps of heat escape from the crack in the glass. It does nothing to him now, as he is engulf in a frozen wind. However, he wonders how long it would take his armor to melt in presence her, without a protective barrier in between.

Anything he touches cools immediately. Frost can fall from his fingertips. He can ride the icy wind, listening to its howl like an impossible beast encompassing the entire land.

It’s best to stay with a strong blizzard like this one. It won’t die for many weeks but it is already moving along on its frozen path. The world lightens with dawn. Genji is almost losing its cold trail.

He frowns, looking back to the sleeping flame. An innocence draws him near, almost pressing against the glass. Surely she must have found his conversation dull while he was trying to think of anything clever or wonderful to say to her. His terrible tongue failed him. At her departure, he was at least allowed a moment to breath out cold mist. Her mere stare alone was melting his thoughts.

But the blizzard waits for no snowflake. This is only the beginning of winter in this region. He will find her again, even if it means traveling across the ground itself.

He stands, and finds a spot on the wood of the window sill. Her eyes cannot miss it if she peeks out and searches for him. His frozen core drops to zero at the idea of her coming to the window first thing, and wanting to speak to him.

In delicate ice, he sprawls out his name. Dawn is near but a cold darkness still hangs over everything save for her presence. He leaves his hope in the jagged frost. Perhaps that can be enough for her for now, from him.

He catches the last zephyr chasing after the blizzard. The cold immediately soothes his hidden skin. The swirling, freezing sphere carries him far from the little wooden house where the candle flame still sleeps.

It will take some time, but he’ll find another blizzard to fly him back to her cracked window. He’ll learn her name.

*

“Genji,” she murmurs to herself, before letting red bleed into her cheeks. She sounds like a fool. Yet, his name tastes lovely on her tongue. It’s real, and keeps her from acting like a lovesick child.

The winter has been calm since the snowflake’s blizzard arrived. It left in the night, taking him along its icy eye. She wasn’t surprised, but, there was a slight edge of disappointment keeping her brow heavy.

If he left his name, he must be bent on returning for hers. If nothing else. At least, that’s what Mercy hopes for. Her desire isn’t to dream up an outlandish fantasy, but she finds herself sighing beside the window on particularly cold nights.

This mooning startles her again and again. Another creature has yet to gain such a reaction from her. Thankfully, she has time to compose herself, but that time may be what is making her a pining mess in the first place.

Her equanimity is almost lost when a silent storm wakes her. There is no howling wind or flurries slamming against the wooden walls, but thick powder falls through the air. One can only look so far before everything becomes white. It’s not a strong blizzard, but it’s a good snowfall.

When she climbs down from her waxy perch, she steps lightly to the window. Her soaring heart knows better, but it still leaps at the idea of finding him tucked back in the corner of the window sill. The snowflake said he likes to travel on the wind, so he couldn’t possibly come back now.

Thankfully, the glass is spared from a build up of snow. Reaching out, the texture is almost as frozen as ice itself. Mercy presses her palm even flatter against the glass, musing of its relation to how his hand would feel.

“Hello.”

Mercy lifts her head, sharply inhaling as the black and blue snowflake rises to his feet. He was almost hidden behind the crack, where she did not carefully look.

“Don’t be frighten, it’s just me,” he says in a soft chuckle. Although the cyan slit in his mask gives nothing away, she can still feel his apologetic smile.

“I must be going blind.” Mercy touches her heart. “I’m the only one setting myself up to be startled.”

He laughs quietly, shaking his shoulders with the motion. It must rumble deep in his chest. Could she feel it if her cheek was lying upon him?

“I do have a habit of blending in with heavy snow.” He shifts ever so slightly, leaning against the glass with one arm. “I’ll be more apparent next time.”

Next time. The two words cause a light burst of air to fall from her lips. A hidden smile tugs at her mouth. As if approaching a whirlwind, Mercy slips closer to the glass. Crossing her arms, her shoulder presses against it. The snap freeze almost leaks into her rib cage, but her light doesn’t flicker.

“Genji,” she addresses.

He stills, as if hearing a bell far in the distance. The one word tastes like sugar that can’t burn. She wants to try it again, but finds his attention almost spellbinding.

“It slipped my mind during our first encounter,” he says, almost revered, “but I hope it’s not too late to ask for your name now?”

Her cheekbones are aligned with deep red. The licking flames that make up the ends of her skirt almost seem to jump as she parts her lips.

“Mercy.”

“Mercy?” he asks as if it’s too good to be true. His voice carries it in a delicate, curious tone.

She nods. The flames at the end of her ponytail swing with the motion.

“Mercy,” Genji repeats, firmer this time.

Does it taste like sweet ice to him? Does he want nothing more then the texture on his tongue, again and again. Like she?

Her eyelids flutter at her own nonsense but finds him still steady, and still leaning close to the window. If they both willed it, their palms could connect them through the crack.

The thought does not go farther than that. She squeezes her hands into fists, knowing that her light could melt his fingertips, or his cold armor dampen her core.

“Thank you, for leaving your name in the frost,” Mercy begins. The dots of cyan on his torso brighten at the mere mention of it. “I felt like a fool for forgetting to ask before you left.”

He shakes his head once with humor.

“We both got carried away with first meeting each other. The term foolish doesn’t fit you, in any case,” he states.

Mercy scoffs but looks over him.

“Do you know how long this storm will last?” She shouldn’t ask, but she can’t help but feel the forlonging sense of an end already creeping upon their time together. She just wants to know, maybe to brace for the inevitable separation, or to use their time together well.

“A lot longer than that blizzard.” His black and dark blue plates of armor reflect the white snow. “So, I will be here for the time being... If you don’t mind?”

The uncertainty in his tone immediately causes Mercy’s hand to reach out as she shoots off a quick, “No.”

Her hand hangs for a moment, the very tips pressing against the glass between their forms. She lets them fall away. A deep red scorches across her cheekbones, almost embarrassed at the knee-jerk reaction to physically keep him here for a moment more.

“No,” she says softer this time, “I don’t mind at all.”

The snowflake leans forward ever so slightly, pleased.

Her wick stays unattended during the snowy morning. The snowflake and candle flame sit down, able to just see the top of the other’s shoulders due to the bottom of the window border. Cracked glass keeps between them as they mirror sitting across from each other. She folds her legs underneath her, leaning on one arm for support. Genji crosses his legs, pressing his spine to the glass while turning one side of his face towards her.

An apology bursts out of his mouth for leaving without any word. Mercy quickly tells him not to, she knew he would keep up with the blizzard. Though, she wonders how he managed to return here without a strong wind. He pauses, raising his shoulders with pride as he explains how he caught the snowfall, and rode it back here. Her eyes almost roll at his boyish arrogance, but relief touches her center at his determination to return here.

They still regard each other curiously. He asks about where she has been, and why she stays here. It’s odd. She has to take a moment to think of her answers, for no one has ever asked her such things before. He is patient, and waits until she explains of the many candles and lamps she has burned with, and how she came to the little cottage. The husband and wife are very sweet and gentle. Their love is warmth that drew her to jump into a burning lamp the short man had carried home one evening. She hasn’t stand in any one place as long as she has stayed here.

After her terribly long explanation, the snowflake’s attention is still glued to her features, as if a sparkling, night sky. An apology waits on her tongue for her rambling, but instead, asks about himself. Where does he come from? Does he enjoy traveling? How much of the large world has he seen?

He holds stories and adventures like the precious pages of a paper book. He simply came to be during a terrible blizzard, both he and his brother. Though, he hasn’t seen him in some time.

Mercy interjects curiously.

“You told me you have never met anyone else of your kind,” her brow furrows slightly in suspicion.

Genji waves his hand through the air, “I don’t count my own brother. I’ve seen him more then plenty of times. He’s nothing new.”

A laugh bursts from her throat, uninvited, before she chastises him for speaking rudely of his own family. He takes it in stride.

At some point, he rests his cheek against the glass for a moment. Mercy stands then, telling him to rest while she regains some energy from her candlestick. A protest waits at the movement of his jaw, but, he lets her go with a simple nod. By then, their conversation has driven them through the entire day. Evening is beginning to fall.

She stops in her tracks, turning back to the window. Genji is already on his feet, stretching his arms far above his head. Black and dark blue plates move with him seamlessly, and she forgets herself for a moment.

“Genji?”

He finds her gaze, lowering his arms.

“Will you leave another frost note?” Her voice flickers as softly as her light against the glass. “If you must go before morning?”

A soft demeanor falls over his body. He gives a confident, comforting nod.

“Of course, Mercy.”

She bows her head.

“Thank you.”

*

The snow is gracious enough to fall through the night and into morning. Coldness keeps him in solitude. Genji wakes to the subtle hint of yellow light falling upon his person. When he looks, Mercy is already at the glass, apologizing for waking him. He tells her that he was already awake.

Not wanting to appear overbearing, lifts her hand away. When he nears the window, her warmth nearly slips through the small crack. Delicately, his fingertips brush across where hers once stood. The heated area of glass immediately cools, although, he’s taken back by how it takes a few seconds more to form frost. For a little candle flame, her center burns strong.

“Can you do that at will?” she asks, studying the icy designs on her side of the window.

“Usually,” he watches her curious gaze. “If I touch something long enough, frost will eventually form.”

A hum carries out of her throat, pulling Genji’s eyes to her lips. He looks away the next moment, grateful for the black mask that covers his face. Mercy’s hair curiously falls around her cheeks. Using one delicate, yellow finger, she brushes it back.

“And what does your touch bring?” he asks, clearing his throat.

Subconsciously, her hands fold together. Her fingers rub in thought before she raises one palm.

“I don’t get to touch much, unless there’s a letter to be burned.”

A small smile touches her mouth, but it’s not entirely happy. His eyes fall behind her to the silver candlestick she makes a home of. The wick and wax are all that she can call her own, he’s sure.

His cyan slice of eyesight comes back to her candlelight. Her dress glimmers with deep oranges and bright reds. She stands straight with her chin level, but something dances in the back of her skull.

“Do you like to burn letters?” he asks, intrigued.

“Yes.” She brightens at a gentle pace, as if given a small bit of gasoline. “The ink and paper curl as it becomes black. My flames crawl first, before rising swiftly, until there’s nothing left but crumbling ash.”

He draws a deep breath, dreaming of the same sensation over his body. To be ash after her touch would be lovely.

She blinks, as if remembering herself. The flickering blue of her eyes fall back to his still form. Only with her gaze does he now realize how close he leans to the crack in the glass. If not to hear her voice better, than just to see her expression clearly.

“Oh, I must be boring you,” her humble voice spins satin.

“The exact opposite, actually,” he smiles with humor, knowing that she doesn’t see it. “I never knew fire could be so passionate. I’d love to bring you some old letters, if only to see you burn brighter.”

She laughs softly into her hand, like the crackling of a fire. It echoes in his mind. Helplessly, his lungs pause to see if he will be blessed with her laughter again, but Mercy looks to him now.

“I do love to touch some things,” a sigh falls from her lips, “but not everything is meant to burn. I must be careful. Surely you are able to do what you please with your frost.”

He shrugs slightly, pondering her slightly wistful tone.

“I can’t just land anywhere. Smoky chimneys or baking coals are in abundance in towns,” he begins. “Some roofs could even melt me, but, I don’t worry too much about such things.”

“You don’t worry?” she questions sharply. “How on earth have you lived this long?”

Laughter bursts out of his chest at her rising concern, unable to hide how fantastic her clear concern is for himself. It’s undeserved, but he basks in its warmth. There is little resistance he can put up against her aura.

“I did say ‘I don’t worry too much’ about things, didn’t I?” He still chuckles despite her narrow brow. “I can sense the cold, or lack thereof, so it’s easy to avoid any unwanted situations.”

Her shoulders relax slightly, giving a satisfied nod.

“I see.”

Mercy’s eyes waver for a moment. The burning blue hold him in undeniability. He breathes out a cold mist, gauging the ice in his heart. Glowing, yellow hands rub in each other’s palms, as if waiting to grasp something.

Genji steps close enough to the window to press his chest against it. Raising his black cladded hand, it hovers over the hole in the glass. Just large enough for his fingers and palms to fit through.

“I’ve been told I can be rather bold, but would it offend if I asked to touch your hand?”

Crinkles appear in her brow as her light burns between him and his upraised hand. In the quiet downfall of snow, a bright hope flares out among the locks of her hair.

She shakes her head, taking half a step back. The brighter flames on her person suddenly die down.

“I’ll melt you, Genji,” she grieves in a quiet tone.

“I could freeze you,” he states simply. “If we meet in between the warmth inside and the cold outside, no harm could be done, right?”

His persuasion is thick as he patiently waits. Of course, she may not want to risk harm for just a silly little snowflake, but his chest is swirling with ice and zephyrs. He has left frost on many surfaces, but his desire to feel the candle flame’s fingertips leaves him with courage. The balance of temperatures between the crack in the glass should be perfect.

They can cross no man’s land together.

Even if his skin suffers from her touch, he will at least know a moment of her presence. The elegant words she used to describe burning a simple letter leaves Genji craving her flames all around him. He has never loved fire, but adoring her gentle light is a simple need of his heart.

“Genji,” she breathes in exasperation, torn between the glass and his snowy complexion.

“We will know in an instant if we cannot,” he soothes while hiding his pleas. “I will drop the matter if you’re fearful of me freezing you.”

“I’m not afraid of that.” Her insistence leaves her looking down at her glowing hands.

Slowly, Genji takes the frost in his veins and inserts his palm into the barely large enough hole. Frost emerges around his wrist on his side of the glass, but he does not retreat.

“I’m not afraid either.”

Longing fuels the light blue of his heart. The chance of crossing boundaries and meeting somewhere impossible keeps the cyan on his body glowing. He wills their fragile, delicate interactions to stay unbreakable.

A new burning brims her eyelashes. Lifting her shoulders in a determined motion, Mercy steps closer to the window. They both stand, facing each other as if glass was never a concept. Her hand reaches through the air. Her very palm throws rays of light. She hesitates, only for a moment, before looking to him once more.

Finding something worthwhile in his stature, Mercy’s hand slips into the crack like a secret. Heat spreads like a wildfire. Yellow and Blue fingers twitch, but neither recede. Inches away, their closeness is unmistakable. Wonder and worry dances across her cheekbones as Genji drinks in the invisible energy between their palms.

Her warmth is almost more than he can handle, but Genji reaches out first. Her lips part as his hand meets her own. The fingers of a snowflake touch a candle flame’s hand. One heartbeat passes. Their palms slide together, fitting.

Her hand is smaller than he thought.

Sharp breaths jerk free from both magical beings. Two things happen at once. A crack appears in the black armor surrounding Genji’s hand, and an angry hiss escapes Mercy’s fingers.

There is no choice when they rip their hands back. On reflex, he draws in on himself. He examines the distinct, searing sensation digging into his palm. Clutching his wrist, he looks up to find she is in no better state. Wide eyes stare down at the faint, dark mark in the center of her hand. Mercy doesn’t blink, locked upon the mark of their differences.

“Mercy, are you alright?” He bleeds with worry, letting it stain his voice.

She misses a beat before lifting her expression. The sorrow rushing across her face runs directly into Genji’s chest.

“Yes… yes, I’m fine,” she says slowly. He doesn’t believe her.

Blinking, she finds him still clutching his wrist.

“Your hand, Genji. Are you hurt?”

“This is nothing.” He lowers his injury. The frozen temperatures already sooth the searing pain, coaxing it into a bad reminder. “I’m sorry, Mercy. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“No, no.” Her head shakes as her fist hides the dark blue mark. “One visit to my wick will erase this in seconds. Don’t apologize. I wanted it to happen, too.”

In their respective elements, they stand. Quietly, they view each other with a buried grief. Another apology rises on his tongue, but he doesn’t let it free. The little time he had to notice the size of her palm, and the warmth that didn’t burn for one tenth of a second, still moves gently through his center. A frozen river that keeps churning the pieces of his soul.

“I did not know fate could be so cruel,” he mutters. Nothing bright lifts his voice. “Having us meet, and be so familiar, yet unable to even be in the other’s presence.”

Mercy smiles sadly.

“It is as kind as it is cruel.”

Gently, she lifts her uninjured hand. She keeps the other one closed in a fist against her side. Her fingers spray across the glass. Patience keeps her still, watching him before he lets a misty breath go.

“Fate still allows me to meet you, and see you with my own eyes,” she murmurs. 

He places his unharmed hand onto the window. If there was no separation, he would be holding her palm once more. Heat soaks into the glass as well as the cold. It’s a balance. Genji straightens, finding a more genuine light escaping her person.

The frozen center of his chest demands a medium that they could keep like this, just without the thick line dividing them.

For a heartbeat, his fingers curl over the image of her hand. If he had a stronger core, he could take her fingertips without pain. The slightest twitch in her palm moves, as if she desires the same.

“I’m sorry, Mercy,” he says again.

“Oh, Genji,” her sad smile almost disappears into pure sorrow, “Please know that I would have asked you to do the same thing eventually. I… We both knew what would happen.”

He almost scoffs but instead huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Hope has never blinded me so much before,” Genji speaks. “My want of touching your hand didn’t let me see the harm it would do… I won’t become blind again, for your sake.”

“For both of our sakes,” she murmurs, adding a silent promise to her core. The urge to ask her to break that promise of protecting him from her flame nearly jumps out of his throat, but he swallows instead.

“Let us rest, and recover,” Mercy lifts her head, calm and focused on his injured hand.

A reluctant agreement comes from his lips. She needs to remove his dark blue mark from her skin. If only he could act as her wick, and sooth over the very injury he gave her.

He doesn’t drop his hand from the glass until after she does. The faint essence of his frost taking over her heat is an ugly sensation. Watching from afar, Genji makes sure she climbs up the silver candlestick and takes to her wick. In moments, any sign of discomfort vanishes as wax melts at her feet. A soft breath escapes his lungs. His touch won’t scar her skin forever. Turning away, he takes to the snow outside. Offering his hand to the frozen air, it fills the cracks in his skin. His own magic seals together the broken plates in his black armor.

Darkness falls. Genji’s thoughts swirl like the internal parts of a flurry. Physically, they are alright, but he cannot flee the heavy stirrings in his center. Longings for the burning brush of her hands keep him restless. To even bask in her presence without some barrier in between would be a blessing from heaven. Can they not come together for even a moment? Does his very nature repulse hers so much that the little crack in the window is all that they will ever have?

He has jump upon many strong wings. Multiple winters have kept him cold and strong. His armor is built with black ice and his magic lies in frost and flurries. Yet, he pines for a creature that can never be his. A candle flame, as bright as the sun.

He is foolish, but he is also determined. Looking from afar from the window sill, Mercy falls asleep on her candlestick.

She is kind, and gentle. Her passion fills him with the urge to create. Even when he proposed the idea of touching hands, her only thought was of her fire melting him away. Her center is too great for a little snowflake, but he wants to know her better, all the same.

The snowstorm begins to move on. Taking its comfortable umbrella, Genji scrawls frost directly onto the glass, managing backwards letters. He prays she will find it before it melts away. In his quick icy writing, he promises to return with the next storm, and apologies once again for harming her in the slightest.

He imagines her glowing face, already objecting to his apology, calling it unneeded. At least she won’t be able to argue with his letters.

Before taking the last cold draft, Genji holds up his hand. Faint scars decorate his palm that reminisce of the cracks in his cyan skin. A painful but wistful experience. Creating a fist, he looks back to the candle flame that casts her light, even in her slumber.

He’ll return. Until then, he carries the want of her very soul within his cold armor, and the dreams of touching her face. The foolish fantasies are just so, but they are what keeps his heart in it’s icy state.

*

Without thinking, she touches the words he’s written on the glass. It was written backwards, meant only for her. Her fingertips trace the curves in Genji’s name, until the white frost begins to pool into liquid. Jerking away, as if bitten, she stares at the sight. As if fate wishes to reminder her once more how estrange they truly are.

If Genji was brought on the wind to her window sill to only be gazed at through the glass, she can have that. Faint aches pulse into her ribs at the thought of existing in a pining state. Steeling herself, his frosty words melt into her core. She can have him in some way, than not have him at all. At least, she keeps telling herself that.

Her fingers curl into loosen bunches, almost scraping the nails against her palms.

His hand is larger than her own. If they had clutched each others fingers, his would have easily held hers.

Absentmindedly, her fingers rub into her now healed palm. She feared the outcome rightfully so. The black armor protecting his skin cracked, as if dealing with thousands of pounds of pressure rather than the touch of a small, insignificant flame.

She should have fought the idea more but he looked so eager, and she herself was already battling an internal debate. She wanted it as badly as him.

And for a moment, they actually had it.

He was cool, like a gentle breeze, for only an instant before frostbite plunged into the center of her hand. The pain sprang upon her, uncaring of its own cruelty. Of course, it was only a matter of taking some of the wick for her own energy. Then, the dark blue scar of his palm left her without any resistance. The color was beautiful on her yellow skin. She didn’t dare say so out loud. His soft words had reprimand for the event well enough. She couldn’t torture him further.

That can’t happen again. He could have melted right before her eyes. Indulging silly day dreams about finding out what lies underneath his armor can’t continue. She won’t let him persuade her either. They must both be careful, even if her fingers still want to lace between his own.

Keeping the snowflake from harm, from her burning center, is what she can give him. Her flickering heart can’t stand another crack in his beautiful armor, especially by her own hand.

Fate will prove to be even more cruel, and even more kind.

Only a week passes by. The husband and wife of the cottage have their children and grandchildren over for a few days. The wife moves her candlestick closer to the window. Round eyes awe at the silver designs as Mercy flickers her body, just to dance and hear them giggle. They quickly return to the fire burning in the hearth, for a storm nears.

She watches the wife cook with her daughters and sons. Their centers burn almost as brightly as her own. A few times, they open the window behind her resting place, but not before moving her safely out of the wind’s way. Her gratitude is silent, but she throws her light brightly around.

When the little ones have finally settled down, no longer fussy, one of the daughters opens the kitchen window. A cold burst of winter air sweeps inside. Mercy’s core is not affected, especially as she stands with her wick, but a shiver moves through her glowing skin. The cold only brings dancing images of the snowflake.

The daughter pulls the window back, shifting her candlestick to its original spot in front of it. However, a slight breeze of winter still moves into the house. It climbs over Mercy’s candlestick and wax. The window wasn’t closed all the way. A few inches are cracked open, enough to let her slip through. She frowns at the sight. Heat will escape outside just as much as the cold will creep in. Hopefully, the wife or one of the many other humans will notice.

Laying down upon her melting wax, Mercy’s gaze stays upon the gape in the window frame until sleep pushes down her eyelids. A dream fills her restful hours. One of the snowflake and herself, walking on the counter top, arm in arm. Far away from the worry of melting or freezing.

She wakes, blinking back boiling tears in her eyes. Heat floods her heart, desperate to cradle dark blue armor and frosty designs.

She was never lonely before. Alone, yes, but never forced into solitude with sorrow. She has traveled through many flames, burned in many fires, but wishes that the cold touch of Genji’s hand wasn’t so biting.

Maybe being intrigued by another magical being so close to her own image is what drives her bleeding chest. Perhaps she hopes to discover what face hides behind the mask. His voice is cool and low, playing in her mind like a song. Laughter comes easily from his throat, as well as an unrestricted confident that makes him foolish, but endearing. His strong shoulders and firm standings give her hope.

But that hope is distant, almost out of her vision. The emotions in her center are rising, like a flame given dry wood. The many days in between his visits are kindling, longing for a brighter, larger flame.

Does she moon over him foolishly? He was so eager to touch her hand, but that may be for curiosity's sake rather than it being her touch upon his. His soft voice after they both harm each other was as real as the winter wind blowing outside.

Mercy blinks slowly. There are no more tears shimmering over her flaming, yellow skin. Rising to her feet, she smooths down her burning dress. Her nimble fingers redo the ponytail pulling back the lighter flames of her hair. Brushing back her bangs, she signs softly.

She looks to the slight opening in the window. With a start, a quiet gasp falls from her mouth.

In the house, several inches away from the window, Genji stands. The small slit which opens the house to the cold outside stays at his back. His mask glows with a line of cyan, focusing his vision upon her. In awe, he tilts his chin up to gaze at her perch on the candlestick.

“Genji! What are you doing?” her frantic voice cries out. Dashing down her candlestick as fast as a falling spark, Mercy races towards the snowflake. The fire in the hearth of the house is only red coals, but the heat in the air is undeniable. To a candle flame, the environment is safe. It is anything but kind to a snowflake.

“Mercy,” he says as she runs. Although he holds himself upright, faint, delicate cracks of ice are already touching Mercy’s ears. The closer she gets, the more patterns of almost melting armor take her heart with panic.

“Genji, get outside, now!” She stops dead. Only a few inches stay between her flickering flame and his chilly aura. Her palms reach out, hovering over empty air. The light she throws around herself is anything but comforting now. “You’re going to melt.”

“I can stay a little longer,” he insists through a strain that drags his voice down. Even his black mask cannot hide the burden of the heat.

“Please, Genji—”

“I just wanted to see you without any barriers. Just once,” he speaks, leveling his gaze over her. “We don’t know when that window will ever open up again.”

A small breath escapes her mouth, stunned. The snowflake stands before her, cracked and ready to melt, but his cyan light remains solely on her. Like a lifeline, like a beacon of hope. The risk of becoming a small puddle is nothing to him if it means viewing her fully.

Her burning heart flares out. There is no cold glass obscuring the small details of his person. He is almost her own height, if not slightly taller. Strength lines every inch of his arms, legs and torso. Beautiful in every aspect.

Mercy’s eyes don’t dare close. She keeps his heavenly sight as miles stay between them, despite this being the closest they’ve ever been to each other. Her warmth, and his coldness, simply can’t exist together.

“See me,” she commands softly.

“I am. I want to see you again and again, at every second.” A desperation slips into his voice. It’s the same twisting, sorrowful need within her chest to gaze at each other for as long as eternity lasts.

“I do, too, but you must go. Now. Please.” Mercy almost steps forward. Her burning figure stays at the front of her mind as a loud crack echoes. A nearly perfect line startles both Genji and Mercy as it drives diagonally down his chest plate.

“Genji!”

“I can handle this,” he almost shouts, blinded by an iron will. “It’s just a little heat. I can handle…”

The snowflake collapses. The very ends of his fingertips are becoming wet, melted.

On the instinct of heart stopping fear, Mercy bolts forward. Swiftly, she grabs Genji’s arm and heaves it over her shoulders. The small opening is just steps away. She whispers for him to stand, to hurry quickly. His cold person does not cause her yellow skin to hiss or sizzle although it is bone chilling. The mind numbing worry at the implications only pushes Mercy farther with the snowflake in her hold. He mumbles something, but stumbles along as she half carries him.

Reaching the window sill, Genji says her name as she lifts him over the separation of inside and outside. A blizzard works outside, howling, as if sensing her inner anguish for him. Moving farther onto the window ledge, Genji attempts to step away from her. As to why, she can’t fathom now.

Out in the open, a cold wind sweeps into Mercy’s core. For half a heartbeat, her flame flickers into nearly nothing.

“Mercy, stop!” he almost begs. His fingertips are no longer wet. The cracks in his armor remain but he stands without her aid. In the cold reality she now remains in, Mercy begins to sink to her knees. A new fear washes over her, numbing and certain.

The storm swirls around the candle flame, wanting her light, her heat, gone. Genji is as swift as one of the flurries when she tries to say his name. His arm shifts down to support her upper back as his other sweeps behind her legs. Lifting her up in a frosty cradle, the snowflake turns away from the edge.

“N-n-n-no,” she chatters, unable to speak. Unconsciously, she curls in over herself, attempting to protect her core. The snowflake hunches over her, taking the brunt of the wind. Dark blue beings to spread across Mercy’s skin, overwhelming her nature yellow color.

“Hold on, keep burning,” he urges over the howling storm.

Her head falls against his shoulder. A crack echoes right inside her ear as her cheek is bitten with frost. He makes no noise except for quiet grunts of effort as he heaves her back over the window sill.

Slowly, gently, Genji lowers her to the warm counter top like placing a black and spent wooden match down. He leans over from the outside, keeping to the cold air just swirling away from her. With her little strength, Mercy pushes his chest away, back into the freezing air.

“S-s-stay in t-the cold,” she says. Failure marks her attempt at trying to control her chattering teeth.

“Can you get to your flame on your own?” he asks weakly. A sharp worry plagues the cyan of his visor. The spots of glowing light over his torso are dim.

“Y-yes,” she gets out, lifting her head slightly. “I j-j-j-j-just n-need a moment.”

He hesitates, still in between the heat and cold. Hovering hands almost reach back for her. Before she can warn him away, he takes a reluctant step back. Genji stumbles to the glass on his side. His cracked armor slumps against the window, nearly defeated. Confusion rises in her mind as to why he doesn’t move further out to where the blizzard would easily touch his wounded person.

Gradually unfurling herself upon the ground, Mercy eases into a kneeling position. The cyan vision upon Genji’s helmet watches her movement like a fluttering, helpless bird. Cruel ice stabs into her hands and along her shoulders. Her skin is marked a deep blue where the pain constricts. Along her backside and behind her legs, evidence of his arms holding her line her once glowing skin with deep, cold bruises.

The heat inside the warm house flows around her. It quiets the biting frost threatening to soak into her core. Drawing a deep breath, the oxygen floods her person, fighting against the ache.

He can never truly touch her, nor she him. Her throat becomes thick, preventing any whispers of his name. Slowly, Mercy wraps her frostbitten arms around herself. Securing her own heat and rising to her feet, her flame wavers. Her legs shake as if they’re about to buckle. A deep breath fills her frame once more.

Genji’s line of cyan through the window is only a glum sight. He’s half pressed against the glass, observing her assessment of the damage his body and the outside wind executed. The cracks throughout his armor are slightly less apparent as the wind continues to howl. A regretful grief racks his still form.

Her lips part, but she says nothing. Her brow crumples as she turns away. He is safe in the storm.

Mercy shambles to her candlestick. Thankfully, it is only a little distance away, but the height of which the wick is set leaves Mercy wishing for more strength. Inhaling more blessed oxygen, she climbs up the silver stand and falls onto her place of rest. The wick takes her embrace with gentleness. Little by little, the dark blue injuries across her skin slowly fade back to a healthy yellow color.

Several minutes trickle by like sand as her center is restored to a strong, unwavering heat. When ice no longer digs into her person, Mercy lifts her head. She hopes to find the snowflake resting against the glass, but finds the sight barren. Her heart falls to the bottom of her rib cage.

A moment later, the faintest glow of cyan on the window sill’s edge gives relief. There, Genji sits in a crossed legged position. The full force of the blizzard hurls sleet and ice upon his cold person, slowly reversing the damage her hands and home did. Like filling holes in stone. He’s half turned towards her. The cyan light of his helmet catches her stare.

They gaze from far away. As if about to taste the misery falling into their souls, Mercy clutches her chest. A boiling sensation touches the corner of her eyes.

He sits in the freezing wind. She stands upon her melting wax. They could never be more apart, aside from where they physically stay.

The fantasy of taking off his helmet, and gazing at his face, slip right through her fingers. She can’t catch it. She burns. He freezes.

They can never be.

Mercy stays upon her wick, watching the snowflake from far upon her isolated tower for the rest of the long day.

*

Genji sits still during the dragging hours. Using his hands, he presses magic into the cracks all across his armor. The black and dark blue ice slowly morphs back together. Despite his best efforts, grooves and scratches remain. He has to go over himself again, just to insure his armor is completely intact.

The blizzard that brought him here whirls against his skin. Its kindness never leaves his frozen heart. He reaches out, letting pieces of snow fall against his hand before withdrawing back.

It is not the same as the candle flame’s light.

He’s a fool. He refuses to look past his desires to see what she sees. He is a frozen part of the air. A snowflake cannot come into the grace of a beautiful, small flame. His core, his very nature, hurts her. The thoughtlessness of rushing inside the warm home nearly damaged her beyond repair, and himself as well.

But her expression still paints the inside of his eyelids. When he collapsed, a fear as intense as a bonfire took over her eyes. Her hands never hesitated when reaching for him. Her yellow skin became dark blue because she refused to leave him to melt into a puddle.

A selfless, caring light could never have a frozen, selfish heart like his.

Oh, but for half a moment, her warmth was kind against his person.

As night falls, Genji keeps his gaze upon the candlestick. Mercy stands, taking small pieces of the wick into her core. There are no more bruises dancing across her skin. His fingers curl into fists at almost scarring her beautiful form for good.

As the two humans inside leave the kitchen to venture to their bedroom, Mercy’s light brightens. It casts shadows as she climbs down the candlestick. Startling Genji’s icy veins, he leaps to his feet at her movement. She shouldn’t stray away from her wick and wax now.

A hard, cruel set of talons dig into his chest. Perhaps, she is coming to tell him to leave, and never return.

Through the sudden, heart throbbing ache, Genji draws a deep breath. Squaring his shoulders, he walks forward to meet her at the window, as if facing an uphill battle. Halfway through the day, one of the other humans pushed the window completely closed. Once again, all they have is the little cracked hole in the glass.

If she asks him to go, he will. He will not stain her core or skin, only being the maker of unhappiness.

She approaches the glass. Something sad swells in the blues of her eyes, like a small fire about to fade into embers. Almost afraid, Genji lets the window act as a flimsy shield, like his cold person could somehow attack her.

Her light throws itself against the glass, warming it by looks alone. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he attempts to cool his fidgeting. The cracks in his armor are gone but his rib cage is entirely exposed, bracing for what will leave her soft lips.

“Mercy,” he speaks first, unable to take the silence. “Are you alright?”

Her eyelids flutter closed for a moment, dealing with an invisible onslaught of emotions.

“You could have melted, Genji,” she begins, almost angry. “I understand why you walked in here, but that was so foolish.”

“I never wanted you to be cold.” Unconsciously, he steps closer to the glass. His palms are up, moving with his intensity. “You wouldn’t be so affected by my touch where the fire roars and the humans’ bodies are warm.”

“Genji,” she almost cries out. She’s close enough to see his entire, miserable form. The window still separates them by millimeters. Her brow furrows, bleeding with worry as she holds his gaze. “I’m not angry that I was harmed, I’m angry because you almost melted right before my eyes! I refuse to watch such a thing happen to you.”

It’s as if she reached out and grab his heart, but her heat doesn’t spring forth searing thoughts. It’s safe within her grasp. Her words cradle his blue, mourning center with a reassurance no one else can give. A slow breath escapes his mouth, filling the air with frosty mist.

“Mercy,” he speaks softly, “If I could make myself warm for you, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Her eyes become wide with the honesty on his tongue. The flames of her hair even stop flickering as she sees him, as if for the first time all over again. Her center expands with oxygen as she closes the separation between them with her hand. Her glowing palm presses against the glass.

His fingers hesitate as violent visions of her entire flame almost disappearing when she brought him outside scratch the insides of his skull. One little gust of wind could have taken her away forever. The dark blue staining her skin would have doused her center completely.

The softness rising in her eyes lifts the talons sinking into his chest. Nearing her alluring fire once more, he presses his palm over hers. In his mind, his fingers lace through her own, comfortable and safe.

“I wish we could be closer,” her satin like voice wavers as she gazes at his fingertips. Longing tugs at her eyelashes. “I want to feel your cold touch. I don’t want this window to be all that we have framed of each other.”

His ice cold heart leaps at her words, soaring despite how sadness casts heavy chains.

A flaring bang falls into her face, hiding one eye.

“But I can only burn whatever I touch.” Her whisper pours out a few drops of sorrow from within her rib cage.

He almost shakes his head. On his tongue waits the many recounts of her warmth, but the blizzard still moves along his backside. It is gentle, while she remains within the harsh, unforgiving heat.

“And I am too cold to let anything be warm,” he murmurs.

Her eyes lift. Softly, she brushes back her hair, revealing the entire bleakness of their fate.

To know each other, but never have each other. That is what they are given.  

“Genji,” her voice says his name like a lullaby, “Will you promise me that you will never come inside again?”

“Mercy,” he almost argues. Their defeat is evident but he still fights the uphill battle with blind hope.

“Please,” she murmurs.

Her expression is too hurt already, too fearful. Genji sighs.

“I don’t want to keep you through the glass.” How can he dream from afar? How can he not touch her burning hair and wonder how warm her lips really are?

Mercy shakes her head slowly, hiding the desire running through her burning cheekbones.

“I would have you like this than not at all.” There is only truth on her tongue, despite the moon shining in her burning gaze.

His heart beats slowly. Unconsciously, his hand almost tenses into a fist over her own gentle palm. He has done enough damage for one day. He won’t let her concern continue to fester, and pry into an open wound.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“Thank you.” Mercy’s hand curls slightly as well. Does she picture how cold his palm is, or simply how her touch would fit inside of his?

Silence takes over their throats. Nothing else can be spoken of in the dreary reality they stand in. They are safe in their elements but estranged by their impossible wants. He allows the quiet comfort of the slight heat spilling into the glass over his touch. As the night grows darker with the blizzard, frost spreads out across the window from his fingertips. Not enough to hide her hand from view, but enough to remind of his nature. Enough to tell that they could never experience the gentle holding of the other.

The silence breaks as Mercy’s soft urging tells him to rest and recover. He only promises to do so if she returns to her wick, as it will let her flame be steady. Agreeing with little resistance, Mercy brings her fingertips to her lips, and returns to the glass. Her two fingers leave the impression of a gentle warmth throughout his palm as she turns away.

He takes his hand back and rubs his thumb into his palm, mesmerizing her far away kiss. A curse echoes in his mind at not returning the gesture, for it is too late. She returns to her candlestick.

The blizzard picks as he wanders to the edge of the window sill. His waning center picks up at its familiar embrace. The wind soothes over his agitated state with a cool texture.

The storm is moving away. It will be gone by morning.

The snowflake looks back to the warmth within. Mercy curls around her wick, resting in wax. Her closed eyelids face the window. She was more weary than she let on. A sigh moves through his lungs at her stubbornness, but smiles behind his mask. She is utterly, beautifully, compassionate.

When she wakes, he won’t be here. Quietly, Genji returns to the glass where her fingertips nearly melted the little frost that had begun to spread. In his jagged, frosty handwriting, he leaves the candle flame a few, delicate words.

Before turning away, he takes off his mask. Pressing his fingertips to his lips, he leaves a small token of his adoration against the window.

In the morning, she will awake to frost spelling out:

_My icy heart stays with you. I will come back for it, and yours, soon. —Genji_

*

By the time the clear, morning sun melts away Genji’s frost, his words are securely tucked away in Mercy’s mind. She dares not touch it until there are only blurred bits of ice scattered across the window. Even then, the cool glass reminisces of his hand.

He shouldn’t leave such lovely things for her. Although cold, his sweet words fill her center like fuel ripe for burning. Indulging in such a fantasy where they can be lovers is dangerous, and heart breaking, but she still whispers what he wrote to the warm air.

Three weeks take the days outside into a still, silent world. The snow is quiet. The air doesn’t move. She longs for the cyan color of his visor in her view. Moving with a blizzard will help him recover all the more from her body heat, but her heart is gnawed upon by the fear of never seeing a snowstorm again. The cracks in his armor are violent scars against the inside of her eyelids. A few of her dreams force her to witness him shattered into pieces, like an ice sculpture dropped from a great height.

When she wakes from some dreams, she whispers the words he left for her. She holds out her yellow, glowing hands. In her palms, she imagines an icy heart, solid and strong, despite her nature.

He’ll come back. She must stop pining so deeply.

Every  morning there is no snowflake at the window, Mercy sighs into her disappointment.  

A creeping hopelessness climbs through her ribs one morning. Many days have passed, and there hasn’t been a single cloud in the sky, or even a slight rustle of a cold breeze. Snow glitters, but there is no magical being to greet her.

She stands in her wick, casting light when the husband and wife come into the kitchen. Most evenings, they prepare dinner together. Their children and grandchildren are gone. The husband talks about a snowstorm that may or may not come.

Her flame brightens at the sheer idea, but another look at the window dims what little flare she had. There is nothing on the horizon. No howling wind warns of something fierce to come. Her shoulders lower, forelonging once again greeting her.

Basking their work in her light, Mercy distracts herself with the older couple for the rest of the evening. When they have a moment free of cutting vegetables or placing some pastry into the oven, the husband takes his wife’s hand and dances with her. The humans smile, warm as any burning fire, and work their feet in senseless circles.

A hand touches her heart at the sight. A fierce, almost boiling sensation takes over her eyes, wanting to dance, too. Not with just anyone, but Genji.

Surely, fate can’t be so cruel as to keep them separated forever? Even so, Mercy can no longer accept that their little touches will always be through glass.

That evening, plots rake through her brain. Genji had the courage, or foolhardiness, to step inside just to see her face unobscured. The desperate, sweet moment turned sour swiftly with the cracking of his armor. They can’t risk another fatal interaction. Mercy’s heart couldn’t take it, nor could she allow Genji’s life to be risked.

Perhaps, there is a middle ground from which they can both take, while still being unharmed.

When the husband and wife leave the kitchen, the candle flame comes to a decision. For the sake of her mooning eyes, and Genji’s unsatisfied heart, she gathers all of her magic. Willing the sun and moon to guide her, she climbs down the candlestick.

Like a floating spark, she jumps across the wooden floor, careful to not linger and burn anything under her feet. The fire in the hearth roars. Joining the larger existence, Mercy dances with the coals and embers. The couple have settled onto the couch. Content and at peace, their wrinkled hands cradle each other’s while unknowingly watching Mercy within the flames.

With the extra fuel, although not truly hers to use, Mercy’s magic leaps from her center. In the popping and crackling of the fire, hidden persuasions shoot into the air. Carried upon heat waves, her magic reaches and envelopes the couple. It is only a small idea, but even the smallest of flames can grow into bonfires.

For the entire evening, Mercy flickers and flares herself all about. Her heart is pure heat, mimicking a red hot coal. The burning blood in her person moves at the thought of Genji, and seeing his face without a mask. Her magic grows and swishes through the hot room, delicately sprinkling itself onto the couple.

By morning light, they will both have a wonderful idea. It won’t cross their minds again until a great storm comes upon them, but it will stay nestled at the back of their brains.

The husband and wife share a kiss before leaving the slowly dying fire. It is late, and they need their rest. They leave the ashy hearth. Silently collecting her thoughts, Mercy stands upon dying embers.

Her enter being breathes with the dream of touching Genji. Drawing strength from such a foolish, desperate vision, she slips back to her candlestick. The wick welcomes her with a kind embrace.

If he truly wants her, just as she does him, they will touch souls, if only for a burning and freezing moment.

It is up to fate now to bring Genji back to her.

*

Nearly an entire month moves Genji far and wide through the winter touched land, but never back to the place where Mercy resides. He jumps upon every flurry, every snow cloud he can find, but their course changes direction at the last moment. The constant cold revitalizes him but the blue ice in his chest cavity is becoming weak. His fingertips spray through the air, as if to touch the sun on the rare moments he finds it glaring down at him. The yellow light only reminisces of her gentle flame.

Her voice plays in his mind. A little harmony that circles again and again, but never to the point of being dull. He hums to focus on a new storm crossing paths with another, but he can only conjure up images of her flame framed face.

A howling, haunting blizzard finally picks up. As if destined to take him far through the land, Genji swiftly hops upon its winds. There is no time that he takes to leave the blizzard and rest before returning. He sleeps in the heart of the storm, dreaming of blue tipped flames and finding her eyes among embers and charcoals.

When he wakes, he wonders what she thinks of the words he left in the frost.

One dark evening, the blizzard strikes the small town. Genji is restless, waiting on the first rush of the wind to find the cottage on the outskirts of the settlement. When it comes into view, the glowing light within can’t possibly be from her flame alone, but Genji believes it so.

An all too familiar window sill blesses his vision. A soft breath escapes his mouth, as if coming home. An eternity has passed from when he first rested on the frozen wood. Everyday, he thanks what little sense he has that made such a seemingly unimportant decision.

His happiness for meeting the candle flame is unparalleled. He gets to speak her name, and want the sight of her burning figure. He gets to know her.

Dropping off of the first gust of wind bringing the blizzard over the cottage, Genji steps lightly. The window is closed but hints of fire and warmth escape from inside. He almost runs to the glass. His fingertips hover over the familiar crack when the sight of the empty silver candlestick causes him to still. The wick is sadly burnt and small without an owner.

As his lungs slow in disappointment, he finds dark smudges over the glass from the inside. Stepping lightly to have a full view, letters manifest in black soot.

_Come to the front porch. I’m waiting with your icy heart. —Mercy_

Imagination runs wild in Genji’s thoughts as he considers how and why she waits for him there. Mouthing her words silently, Genji turns. The blizzard takes the area, howling and twirling snow. How could she be on the front porch, and waiting for him? Surely she is wiser than him to attempt leaving the safety of her element. Excitement and worry spurs him forward onto a curving draft. Carrying him like a gift, the wind offers a swift descent to the front of the little house.

On a humble wooden porch, a hand carved bench holds the husband and wife of the home. They are bundled in thick layers of cloth, huddling underneath a shared blanket. Cups let steam rise into the air as they hide just out of the direct blow of the wind. The blizzard puts on a dark blue show for the couple as they speak softly and occasionally press a kiss to a cheek.

A small but thick, white railing lines the meager setting. Set on top, just in reach of the blizzard’s harsh touch, a lantern burns. Upon the wick, protected by glass and dark metal, Mercy stands. Her burning gaze looks out into the heart of the storm. Her hands press against the walls of her containment, standing on the tips of her toes.

Behind his mask, his jaw lowers as he rides the wind to the railing. Jumping off, his landing is near silent. The cold metal provides a strong foundation. His path to Mercy’s lantern is simply a few steps. Her light nearly touches everything, from the husband and wife, to the porch and finally, Genji.

Joy spills into his chest like a frozen waterfall. He calls out, enjoying the whip of her burning hair through the air as she turns. Her person flares like a bonfire splashed with gasoline at laying eyes upon him.

On melted wax and a strong wick, Mercy faces him in the lantern. Wires of dark metal support the glass on two sides, but there is little else separating them.

“Mercy,” he breathes out like a prayer. “How did you get out here? Are you alright in this storm?”

“Oh, Genji, I’m fine,” she smiles like the breaking dawn, “I’m safe in here, especially with a wick. You’re not being harmed by my heat, are you?”

He shakes his head, slowly accepting how close she is. A small, sour note taps his heart at the glass still separating them, but he swallows the little ache. He gazes at her bright face, easing the longing in his chest.

The blue of her eyes stare back. Fire is described as harsh and intense, and it may be so, but there is only softness within her. Genji’s skin shivers at the urge to wrap his arms around her, knowing that doing so will give him an eternal peace.

“I’m missed you,” his voice falls like a piece of snow.

Her light wavers softly. A shy smile touches her lips.

“As have I.”

She brushes back a burning bang, still radiating a comfort Genji can’t touch. He still tries to in vain. Lifting his hand, his palm presses to the glass. Her eyes follow the motion. Instead of giving in to their pitiful plea of physical contact, she reaches up.

“Step back,” she says, glimmering with an uncontrollable energy.

His lips part in confusion, but he does as she asks. Giving the lantern space, Mercy’s hand pushes once against the glass. One wire of metal framing the glass suddenly moves outwards. A small latch in the lantern reveals itself. The latch widens until it’s nearly shoved into the wind, freeing the candle flame in her gentle glory.

In the constant cold of the storm, Genji feels warmth. Her light spills over his armor but the heat has no way of cracking his center. Nothing wavers or shivers in her flames. She stands in certainty.

“I am still a candle flame,” she speaks softly, “and you are still a snowflake, but maybe this will let us…”

Anxious hands smooth down the skirt of her burning dress. Lifting her gaze, she regards him as if contemplating the effect of touching the moon. At the very edges of her mouth, a hopeful, longing sense mirrors his own.

Genji steps forward, earning her cautious palm.

“If I don’t find myself waking up from such a beautiful dream,” he begins gently, “I am willing to risk this, but only if you are, too.”

Her heat falls against him, but the storm keeps him steady. Inching ever so closer, her light reflects the black shards of his icy armor. Mercy leans forward. The wind never threatens to rush through her burning hair.  

“I am. I want to be with you… if only for a few moments, free of harm.”

“Even then, it is worth it,” Genji murmurs. Stepping to the very edge of the lantern base, where wax pools and Mercy stands beside her wick, he doesn’t break. The edge of the blizzard pushes him forward. Coldness stays with him, strengthening his core. Slowly, like water dripping from an icicle, her worry washes away.

A soft caress soothes his heart. He finds it in her palms.

Like a cloud passing over the sun, Mercy dims.

“Genji, would you have someone that isn’t constant? That can’t always be yours?” she wonders softly. Her palms are held out, as if just a second away from reaching out to brush against his armor. The gentle light around her person flickers. “There will come a time that spring returns. Months will separate us. Can you keep my heart with you through all of those seasons?”

“Mercy,” he breathes, stunned at her doubts. “If you gave it to me, it would be the only thing allowing me patience until I can get back to you. You already have my heart. If you trust me with yours, I will cherish it beyond days.”

As if gently coaxed with a strong breath, Mercy’s light grows. Her cheeks beam as softness threatens to melt her demeanor. His fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to hold what texture she creates.

Gently, like the ends of her yellow hair, she asks, “Do you ever take off that mask?”

The ice in his veins flood with a cold river. His frozen heart beats like the constant whirls of the blizzard. Remembering his limbs, a soft click echoes as he unclasps his face plate. With one hand, he lifts it away from his skin.

“For you, yes.”

Her lips part silently. One hand almost reaches forward, as if to run her fingers through his black hair. His skin glows like hers, but radiates a cool cyan color. He’s always found the color of his irises odd, but now, seeing her stare into them, as if they hold his soul, he thinks otherwise. Does she find beauty in the almost wood like color in his gaze? Is it what she imagined for him, or is it somehow better?

Lowering his helmet to the floor the white railing provides, he presents himself with a near smirk on his lips. The desires freezing in his chest force him closer. Her heat is merciful to his person. In the same effect, his cold aura doesn’t create shivers in her core.

“You are so beautiful,” she barely speaks, as if losing the oxygen in her center.

Beautiful. It almost stuns him. If any description were to come from her lips, he was praying for her to find him handsome. But beautiful? Beautiful in ways beyond his physical appearance? He doesn’t dare to believe so, yet, her soft lips are undeniable.

He inhales softly.

“How can you say that when you are standing right in front of me?”

The stars shimmer in his eyes when her gaze never departs from him.

“Because I’m standing right in front of you.”

She leans forward, unhidden, undivided from his physical presence. Genji can no longer step further without ending in the melted wax, but he falls towards her. There is no longer control left in his weak form to resist her kind being. He dares not bruise her delicate, yellow skin but his mouth finds sweet relief in embracing the warmth of her light.

She is as soft as he dreamed. Slight smoke, and bumblebee wax floods his tongue. She takes over, consuming his core without sparking a single scar. He gives himself into her light, wanting to be saved, again and again. He is delicate, but hungry. He tastes her teeth and shivers when a soft noise escapes her throat. It is only pleasure.

Her warmth turns to scorching heat. Genji scrunches his eyes, almost refusing to break away when a sigh moves through her lungs. Breaking apart, a deep inhale expands his chest, as if remembering basic living functions aside from touching her.

Dark blue colors her lips. Before he can ask if his frost bit her too hard, the colors disappear. She turns away, taking the very top of the wick. It falls into her core. When she faces him once more, only a gentle red burns across her cheeks.

“Your lips,” she murmurs, touching her own. The ghostly brush brings back their moment from seconds ago.

His mouth must have turned a dark orange color, like the center of a spark. Her kiss no longer burns, but he draws back slightly into the blizzard. One gush of wind fills him. What little pain and energy he endured vanishes into the night.

“It is nothing painful,” he reassures. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she almost laughs, overwhelmed with joy. Her flame flares out, not from the wick or the protection of the glass. Only her core burns brightest tonight. To be able to even grace such a creature plunges Genji’s soul into an icy river.

“May I kiss you again, my love,” he asks. The confessions of his heart are unbridled this night. He has no reason to keep them chained. She is here, within his reach, and as soft as he imagined.

She nods once before Genji is sweeping forward once more. They dare only to brush fingertips against each other’s cheeks and throats. The kiss between them is on fire and frozen, calm and passionate, gentle and hungry.

For as long as the night will hold them, the candle flame and snowflake cool and warm each other’s lips. Their burning and freezing hearts exist in adoration.


End file.
